


Force of Will

by PermianExtinction



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig
Genre: (even though that's been jossed), (in the sense of ghostly possession), F/M, Hints of Snoke is Plagueis, Rax Is Snoke Theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PermianExtinction/pseuds/PermianExtinction
Summary: Set during The Force Awakens - Rax as Snoke discusses his schemes to his favorite audience member.





	Force of Will

Gallius Rax paces because he cannot help it. It is too ill-fitting to sit still while the story moves forward in leaps and bounds. He must walk, to keep ahead of the narrative, so it does not overtake him and charge on, unguided, into absurdity. Without his hand on the leash of fate, all of these events will lose their meaning. And what a waste that would be, after they have come so far.

“This… you see,” he says as his fingers clench, gripping the air, catching and restraining a thought so he might express it, “This is the moment of greatest tension, greatest  _anguish_. Not the inevitable confrontation, but the moment when its inevitability is sealed.”

He pauses, stops pacing, and imagines how to describe the visceral experience. He knows it; everyone knows it, everyone who has ever been moved to emotion by a story. “A bolt,” he says, “a bolt has struck the audience’s heart, and everything to follow is the process of bleeding out.”

What else? There is something else—

“And yet,” he says, raising a finger as if to hold off objections, “it is spiced with false hope. Until the very instant that Kylo Ren kills his father, he will believe in the unreality of it. He will have faith, because faith is inspired not by certainty, but by the  _desire_  for certainty. He will not search for reasons why his mentor is wrong, but rather, why he is right. And as he does this…”

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling viewport, the great field of stars confirms what Rax knows to be true: everything in the universe can be reduced to what he sees before him. Scattered dots of light on an empty, darkened stage. But there is a fundamental order to it all. It has a destiny.

And destiny is illuminated and shaped by the will of  _minds_. Minds like his own.

“As he does this,” he says, returning to the details at hand, “he will attempt to prove his devotion to his Supreme Leader. Perhaps, he may think, he will be spared from his cruel duty if he offers some equivalent sacrifice.”

Rax pauses. Closes his eyes momentarily as he envisions…

The voice cuts through his thoughts. “And will he?” it asks. “Be spared, that is?”

Rae Sloane stands halfway between the entrance to Rax’s chambers and the man himself. A familiar setup. That halfway point is the space she has always occupied. Enough for her to grow comfortable with it, to grow daring, even. Enough for her to step further. Step closer. She could, if she wanted to.

She doesn’t, not yet.

Rax spins on his heel to face her, half of a grin spreading up one cheek. He’s saving the other half, hoping Sloane will earn it in due course. “Of course not,” he tells her. “A moment like this, the emotional impact, carries no weight if the inevitable can indeed be thwarted. And Kylo Ren must know this. He must know of the impossibility of escape, so that he may place his trust in the Force, that which grants the impossible.”

“And in you,” Sloane says bluntly.

Rax tuts and corrects her. “In Supreme Leader Snoke.”

From her expression, Sloane knows what Rax means, and she is exasperated, even made weary by it. She states the obvious, deliberately failing his little test with her stubborn obtuseness. “You are Snoke.”

This elicits a sigh from Rax, but he could have expected no less. Sloane dislikes abstraction. “Rae,” Rax begins, “you would not be so crass as to address an actor by the character they play. If, shall we say, you had the honor of meeting Satas Ae at a banquet (were he not long passed, of course), would you speak to him as if he were the Tholothian?”

“No, I would not.” Her lips curl into a sneer. “I might ask him his name, since I have no idea who he is.”

That impudence. That fearlessness. It is good, he decides. Once, Sloane would be more likely to evade him, or placate him, because she did not know the extent of Rax’s influence – or whether he were friend or foe. Now, she still might not know, but she does not care.

It should be regrettable. Before, he might have been angry with her for wasting his time. Also, she is lying, and they both know it. But while her words lie, her demeanor speaks truth – the truth of her animosity.

Rax’s expression has sobered slightly, but his eyes still glint, challenging Sloane to speak her mind.  _Show me, Rae. Show me your true self._

Thought he raises an eyebrow at the smaller fib.

“Very well,” Sloane snaps eventually. “Yes, I know of him, if only because you infect those around you with useless references to opera.” She takes a breath, curtailing her impatience, but her jaw remains set with an unwillingness to submit. “All this… acting. It is not the way to lead. At least Palpatine, mystery though he was, ruled his Empire as himself.”

“Did he, really? Does any leader?”

Sloane does not waver often. But she considers this.

Deep down, she surely knows that the ideals she believed in so ardently were not the reality of the Empire. But she has a mind of great will, too. The limitations of reality need not apply in her goals – she will make unreality real. She is determined that her vision for the galaxy be actualized.

Even slowly, if necessary, Rax will make her understand that they are alike in that respect.

But Sloane is still staring at him. Their gazes are locked. Then her eyes narrow and she takes a single, purposeful step forward. “Snoke is not a character you choose to play,” she tells him. “I question your…  _leadership_ … when you are not the one in control.”

Rax’s chest tightens. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t  _Sloane_. Somewhere in this conversation, there was a mistake, and it has led to this… imperfection. He tries to respond, tries to keep this going – and it had seemed to be going so well.

“That, or you have come to worry about me.”

He regrets his words immediately. Sloane has no response for this. How could she?

There is silence, and it stretches on, and Rax eventually gives in to it, turning back to the window and letting his stiff posture slacken. There is no use. He cannot reproduce with any kind of verisimilitude what Sloane’s response would be. He has let his mind become clouded.

Internally, he berates himself, calling himself a fool and a weakling. Has he forgotten his purpose for doing this? It is not an indulgence. It is not an act of gratification.

There is a simple fact about the order of the universe. That it is shaped by the will of minds. The Force is proof of this, breaking all laws science clearly sets in place. The Force, which grants the impossible. Even to someone like him, who once did not believe.

The Jedi were not so foolish, at times.  _Size matters not_. They understood – but feared – the truly unlimited nature of the Force. If the Force can do the smallest impossible thing, even lift a feather a hand’s breadth from the ground with a thought, then it can achieve  _any_  impossibility.

Rax calls up the image of Rae Sloane once again. She is standing in this room, he thinks, right before me. Her eyes burn with indignation. Her posture, stiff and haughty. Her uniform is impeccably ironed – the uniform of a Grand Admiral, but tailored to show a new allegiance, to the Order she founded. 

She exists. Not  _has existed_. His memory of her assures him of this: if she had utterly ceased to be, then this image in his mind, too, would be erased.

Once again. He will not stop trying. He will perpetuate the existence of Rae Sloane until she is returned to him in the flesh, unreality made reality, fantasy made fact. None of these foolish meanderings into the realm of wish fulfillment – he will have her as she was _._ No.  _Is_.

The Force is limitless. He lets it envelop him, opens every door in his mind to it, this strange cold fire that has been burning in him for decades. A hungry remnant of a being that rekindled his destiny – at a price, of course. Using him, perhaps, but he uses it back.

He would not be the first to suggest that the Force could create life. The stories he never believed in, except for their power to inspire and persuade… no, they were true. He is keenly aware of this now.  

How would he, of all people, wretched host that he is to the ghost of his master’s master, deny that it could bring back the dead?


End file.
